Silverclaw's Vow
by DuskMoon15
Summary: It has been nine seasons since it happened, and my dreams are still stained scarlet. I am old now, the cries of my dying clanmates echoing in my ears, the glowing eyes of the enemy haunting me in the darkness of night, the feeling of blood beneath my paw.


**AN: Sorry I haven't updated Too Late for Regret in a while; I've been working on chapter fifteen. While I was writing it, I came up with this. It just popped into my head all of a sudden. I hope you like it.**

It's been nine seasons sinece it all happened, and my dreams are still stained scarlet.

"Silverclaw! Silverclaw!"

I can still hear the voices of my clanmates as they celebrated my warrior ceremony. I had fought off a fox to protect Specklekit, who had wandered from camp under her mother's forgetful watch. Lionstar declared me ready to defend my clan in life and death, in war and peace, in drought and flood as a true warrior.

The night I sat my vigil was a cold, moonless night in late leaf-bare. It should have been an easy vigil, but it wasn't.

Heavy gales tore the leaves from trees, throwing twigs and branches at me. But I held my ground. Lightning ripped the sky, striking the ground close to my paws. But I did not run.

I was a warrior; I would fight to my last breath to defend my Clan, give my last drop of precious blood to save it.

And I almost had to.

The battle cry still haunts my dreams, tearing me from what little sleep I get at night.

The forest floor was slick with blood; sometimes I think I can still feel it, wet and thick underpaw.

The glowing eyes of our enemies plague my every waking moment. As I gaze into the deep, blackened shadows of the trees, I swear I can still make out the green-gold glow of eyes hungry for blood.

The flash of claws against the pitch-darkness chills me to the bone; the memory of them sinking into my flesh and dragging down my side is all too real.

The bloodthirsty enemy we faced was unlike any we had seen before.

I remember recognizing pelts in the darkness, familiar scents swarming around me, heavy in my nose with the reek of death.

Then one cat looked straight at me and turned back, melting into the darkness.

I called out a warning to the Clan, but it was too late.

Specklekit, the darling mottled she-kit whose life I had saved, lay dead at my feet, her gray pelt stinking of shadows and blood. It was all for nothing. I could have easily been killed fighting that fox, but I did to save her, and it was all for nothing.

I charged into the battle, intent on avenging the beautiful she-kit I had fallen for the moment I saw her, paws swiping with deadly accuracy, teeth closing on raw and bloodied flesh.

But I would never forget the sight that greeted me when the haze of red retreated.

Mangled bodies, lying in the snow, blood running thick and spilling into dreadful crimson puddles underpaw.

Of course some of the enemies were dead, but my Clan had paid the price.

Lionstar, Runningstep, Raventail, Cinderpaw, Brackenclaw, Emberkit, Ripplepaw, Petalpaw, Ebonykit, Starlingpaw, Pinefur, even my own mother, Wolfheart.

And there were still others.

But my beautiful Speckekit… I miss her the most.

Now I stand guard at the edge of camp, the most senior of the warriors, the only cat left from that fateful night.

Spottedstone and Pebbletail say I wake up in the middle of the night, yowling in terror that we'll all be killed. I believe them.

The memory haunts my dreams, always there like the dew and frost each sunrise.

The pained yowls of my clanmates echo in my ears as they bleed scarlet into the snow; their cries for help are but whispers caught on the wind of long-wished-forgotten memory.

As I stand in the night, watching silently for threats to my Clan, I remember the fallen warriors, apprentices, queens, and kits.

The night I sat vigil under the shade of this same oak, I never knew what tragedy would befall my Clan.

I had never guessed that anyone would dare attack on a night when you could hardly see past your whiskers.

It just didn't seem possible that anyone would try to kill the cats I held so dear.

Wolfheart, Raventail, Specklekit; they were all ripped from me in one foul swoop.

There are times when I think these past seasons have all been some horrible nightmare, and I'll wake up to find Specklekit smiling at me, earning her apprentice or warrior name.

But no matter how long I try to remember that I can't change what happened, a part of me wishes that I had called out to the Clan sooner, risking my own death to fulfill the promise I made as the sun set that night.

Then I would have been the one lying mangled and bloodied in the snow, instead of Specklekit and Wolfheart.

Oh, I wish I would just die already. I'm older than Hazelstar, the third leader since Lionstar; I should have retired to the elders den long ago, left the fighting and protecting to my younger and stronger clanmates.

But I will not abandon my clanmates once again to delve deeper into despair as I did when I saw how few and weak we had become. I will not allow anything like that to happen. Never again.

Hazelstar is gentle with me, having Bramblefur assign me the easiest border patrols, the least rigorous hunting trips; in leaf-fall and leaf-bare, he makes sure I regularly visit Goldenwing, the medicine cat, so I don't catch greencough or whitecough.

Goldenwing is always telling me to retire; I'm working myself to death.

But I will not give up the name of a warrior until I am sure that Specklekit and all the others did not die in vain.

I will defend my Clan until my last breath, clutching at the fragment of purpose left in my sorry existence, holding on to follow the path that is set for me in stone.

The life of a Clan cat is different than a rouge's or loner's because we fight and hunt not for ourselves, but for all the cats waiting for us at camp, pleading with fearful eyes that we all come home safe, without injury or breathless tale of battle with the other cats prowling hungrily at our borders.

I will live as a warrior, and die the death that stalks me as the hunter stalks his prey – a death with honor, defending what I love most.

So beware, enemies of the Clans. I may be a fragile old cat with teeth worn down from so many battles and fruitless hunting trips. My claws may not be as sharp as the younger cats I fight beside, but I will give my last drop of blood for this Clan and breathe my last breath protecting it from all who wish to harm it.

Every loner will be scorned, every rouge who dares torment these cats given the fate they deserve, every enemy defeated by any means necessary.

Cross our borders if you dare, but be warned, I may be old, but I have enough to fight to the death for.


End file.
